


In Passing

by escspace



Series: Side Stories [1]
Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: Flashback Era, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escspace/pseuds/escspace
Summary: The Lord is fascinated by that infuriating werewolf Muzaka and enlists Ragar's help.
Relationships: Ashleen & Muzaka (Noblesse), Frankenstein/Ragar Kertia/Cadis Etrama Di Raizel, Ragar Kertia/The Previous Lord
Series: Side Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912540
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	In Passing

“A summons?”

“A request.”

Muzaka looked up at the stars beyond the canopy of leaves that densely dappled his view of the sky. The night was warm and humid, almost oppressive, making the hairs on the back of his neck cling to his skin, sticky from the climate.

The noble who stood before him watched with unblinking, intense eyes set above a black mask. Their redness almost glowed in the darkness, and Muzaka could not help but wonder if that was an intentional aesthetic choice, as nobles tended to be more than vain enough. Only the clan leader’s hair swayed in the breeze, and even then, it was utterly soundless. His willowy, dark-clad form like a tall shadow.

“Sure, I don’t see why not,” Muzaka said.

The noble nodded, gently approving. “Then, follow me.” He sank into the shadows, disappearing.

* * *

The throne room was, like many vain noble things, a spectacle: towers of stone, detailed facades, and tall arcade arches. Muzaka, uncaring of performative formalities, shoved open the tall door with a hand, the other hand in his pocket, and stepped inside.

In the corner of his eye, he caught the sudden but brief expression of alarm that crossed the face of his noble escort, who followed closely after into the vast hall to take a post to one side of the dense, red rug. He bowed deeply, eyes respectfully averted from the throne. “My Lord, I have brought Muzaka, Lord of the werewolves, to you as ordered.”

“How excellent.” The Lord’s voice carried with it the lilt of his wide smile. “My dear Ragar, rise, and let us take a look at this _fascinating_ being before us.”

Muzaka looked up towards the throne, high above them on a platform, like an altar. The Lord smiled down at him, and Muzaka was certain this time that nobles made their eyes gleam.

His grin was both welcoming and mystifying. “ _Muzaka_...” He said his name like honey, slow and achingly sweet.

Muzaka was once again aware of the humidity, of the heat, of the _pressure_ , like the very air had condensed and closed in around him, pressing upon him until his breath was tight. Glancing to the side he spotted the one called Ragar, apparently as obedient as ever, staring at him with scrutinizing, unsettling eyes. Muzaka was center stage, and the two nobles observed him like a specimen.

At once, he no longer felt like being in their presences.

“The Lord of the werewolves...how lofty, how powerful,” the Lord said, nearly singing his words. “Tell me, what do your people say about you?”

“Huh?” was what Muzaka could utter dumbly.

“Do they call you strong? Do they call you fearsome? Or perhaps you are carefree. Perhaps you are compassionate. Perhaps they say you’re diplomatic. Or maybe you are the rash, impassioned type.” The Lord leaned forward, seemingly enthused by his own vocabulary, eyes wide and the curve of his smile like the shine of a sickle. “What do you say that they say about you, Lord of the werewolves?”

Muzaka gazed up at him, the strangest of strangers.

The Lord’s long hair swept gently with the tilt of his head. “Or perhaps...you don’t know.” He leaned back into his seat—performative, dramatic. “You wouldn’t know. And isn’t that fascinating?”

Restraining a grimace, Muzaka lifted his head and stepped forward daringly. “Why did you want to see me?”

The Lord blinked, appearing as if it was Muzaka who did strange performances and asked strange questions. He stared at him as if the answer were obvious. “To see you, of course!” He smiled and rested his chin on a hand. “That is the reason.” Then, he laughed lightly. “A lord should know who comes and goes in their land, should they not? And, as I hear, you, Muzaka, do your fair share of coming and going.”

“So is that all?” Muzaka gestured outward. “You only wanted to see me?” He looked at the Lord with not a modicum of trust or fellow-feeling, regardless of common lordship. Moving to turn away, he curtly said, “Well, you’ve seen me. If that’s all, then...I’ll be going.”

The Lord nodded sagely, though Muzaka could not vouch for his sageness. “Oh, of course. I am _certain_ you have many things to attend to. Very much coming and going, you see.”

The door was shut behind him by the ever silent noble. His ominous red gaze in between the narrow sliver of light in the entrance was Muzaka’s parting gift.

* * *

“Ragar, please continue your observations of our fascinating acquaintance.”

Ragar bowed his head, eyes low. “I hear and obey the Lord.”

* * *

“Leaving so soon?” Frankenstein had been roused from the bed, and the cover fell from his bare chest as he sat up. “You usually stay the night.”

Beside him, Sir Raizel had also opened his eyes, his gaze piercing and pinning Ragar to the spot.

Ragar nodded, now as primly dressed as ever. “Thank you for having me once again.” He bowed his head in deference to the Noblesse. He turned as he straightened. “Apologies that I will not be able to join you in morning tea. I have duties to fulfill for the Lord and am uncertain of when we might encounter each other again.”

“Well, isn’t that mysterious?”

“You may have to procure a different sparring partner for the time being, Frankenstein.” Ragar nodded his farewell to the both of them. “Again, I thank you, Sir Raizel, Frankenstein, for your company,” he said and then slipped through the doorway.

In the dead of night, he passed through Lukedonia, ghost-quiet, a mere phantom whispering through the dark, dense forest, to the ends of the earth, if need be.

* * *

“Lord Muzaka.” Autumn-orange hair swayed as she bowed, ever formal, peculiar for a werewolf, though when it was her, Muzaka found it endearing. “I’m glad to see you safely returned, but I must inform you of altercations that have taken place on the edges of our territories,” Garda said.

Muzaka’s lips pressed together, his brow furrowing in worrying ways. He smiled. “Thank you, Garda, for being so attentive.” He sighed, tilting his head downwards. “I‘ll hear your news soon enough, but I have to pay a visit to someone urgently for now.”

Garda paused, observing him with clear, amber eyes that are nearly telepathic in their perception of her Lord, knowing things about him that are taboo to speak of. She bowed her head. “Yes, Lord Muzaka. I will be sure not to disturb your...personal matters.”

Muzaka’s smile was casual and greatly appreciative. “You remain unfailing. Thank you, Garda.”

As he fled to distant pastures, Garda turned to peer up curiously at the shade in between the dense leaves of the forest. Perhaps it was a breeze that swayed the branches; perhaps it was her imagination.

* * *

They had travelled for many weeks, crossing great oceans and hills and valleys. Until at last, they had arrived at one of the many great deserts he had seen before.

In the sweltering market square of the city of Cairo, Muzaka laughed as he placed a colorful veil over Ashleen’s head with a great flourish, the fabric fluttering before settling over her slim shoulders.

She held the edge in between her fingers and then twirled around, the veil blossoming with the motion. “How pretty.” She smiled then trotted up to him. “You must get something for yourself too. I’ll pick this time!” she asserted before decisively marching away to one of the many colorful shop stalls and their eclectic selection of goods, from spices and salt to textiles and pottery.

A dark skinned, mustached man smiled up at her from the shade of his awning as she approached. His jewel-green head wrap was speckled by light that bled through the worn edges of the tarp he rested under. “Does anything interest the lady?” he said in his gravelly but warm voice.

Ashleen tilted her head and placed her fingers under her chin in dramatic consideration. She scrutinized the selection of fabrics before suddenly brightening. “This one!” The wooden table creaked under the force of her hand as she slammed it down onto a long, folded cape. Its deep maroon color was bordered by a subdued golden trim, and near the collar were dark brass clips.

The shopkeeper nodded wisely. “You have an excellent eye. This is one of the finest articles I have.”

A little sheepishly, Muzaka peeked around from behind Ashleen. “Er, how much is it?”

* * *

Roasted pigeon and bread were set on the low table as they sat on the floor, for a moment taking in the atmosphere of the mundane humdrum of the eatery. The chatter of other customers at other tables provided a quaint backdrop.

Ashleen’s fallen, pouting expressions was one of those occasional punishments he had to be willing to bear. “The cape was nice...” she lamented.

Muzaka took a breath and mustered up an ounce of sternness. "Look, if we had bought that, we wouldn’t have anything to eat.”

"I can hunt."

"In the desert? And where would we sleep?"

"We can find a cave."

He smiled tenderly. "Ashleen..."

She huffed. "Don't pretend like we haven't done that before! I'm used to sleeping on the ground now."

Muzaka tore off a bit of bread and placed the meat inside to make a crude sandwich. He handed it over to Ashleen, who tartly took it from him, still unwilling to drop her indignation. “Doesn’t mean we should when we can help it.”

“Hmph.” The bread crunched under her aggressive bite and crumbs flaked onto her shirt, which she quickly brushed off. After a while, “This is good...” she admitted, averting her eyes petulantly.

Muzaka chuckled as he tore into the food for himself as well.

* * *

He stepped out into the dry night from the warm glow if the inn. Ashleen safely tucked in, Muzaka traversed into the labyrinthine city streets, the flames of oil lamps flickering along his path. He felt the silent quiver of something watchful as he wandered from the heart of the city to its outskirts. From an unassuming passing crowd. From an alleyway shadow when he turned the corner. The subtle presence sunk into him like paranoia, and Muzaka wondered if it was perhaps just his paranoia that played tricks on his mind in the dark. But as the feeling remained unshakeable, he suspected something more than just an apparition of his mind.

“Mister—“

Muzaka whipped around viciously at the touch on his shoulder.

A woman, wide-eyed and startled, stared at him from behind her dark veil and head covering.

“Oh—“

“Oh—“

She fidgeted under his nervous, weary gaze. “I’m sorry. I was hoping you could point me in the direction of the Bab Al-Futuh gate.”

Muzaka perked up and scratched inanely at the back of his neck. “Oh, uh, you can just follow me. I was going there myself.” He offered a soft, reconciling chuckle. “Sorry I scared you.”

Though much of her face was obscured, she smiled in her eyes, dark brown illuminated with the life of the flickering lamp flame. “Thank you for your help, Mister.”

* * *

The stone structure of Bab Al-Futuh was a tall, dark silhouette against the stars at this hour. It rose up grandly from the wall surrounding the city, and the arch above the entrance between the two towers was decorated with triangular pendentives like much of the surrounding architecture.

“This is it!” The woman turned to him and nodded. “Thank you again. Have a good night, Mister.” Her long cloak fluttered behind her as she puttered away down the street to get on with her own life undoubtedly.

Muzaka watched her disappear in silence for a moment. Then, he looked up. Faster than the eye can see, he scaled the wall and landed lightly on the outside. Aimlessly, he wandered along the road leading outward from the city. After a while, he stopped, surrounded by seemingly nothing. His long, course hair whipped from violent momentum as he turned on his heel. A wide cascade from his claws tore through the air, immediately lighting up the area with bright white.

The air shuddered from an impact. In the clearing, a dark-clad figure appeared to materialize from nothing.

“You again."

Ragar landed delicately on the ground. Despite the scuffle, he nodded politely. “Good evening, Lord Muzaka.” The wounds across his face and arms had already begun to knit themselves.

“How long have you been following us?”

There was a considerate pause that made Muzaka feel no easier. “Longer than you know,” was Ragar’s response.

“This is an order from your Lord?”

Another pause. Ragar nodded.

Muzaka pulled his lips back. He clicked his tongue and kicked childishly at the dirt, sending a puff of dust into the air. “I’ll have to talk to that guy myself about this.”

“I am willing to guide you back to Lukedonia—“

“No. No, that won’t be needed.” He sighed. “I’ll return Ashleen to her pastures, then we’ll talk, Lord to Lord.”

Ragar nodded. “That is acceptable.”

“Don’t follow us,” Muzaka said.

Ragar gave him a look, measured and utterly unreadable. “You are not my Lord,” he told him, and disappeared again.

* * *

“So he wishes for an audience, how thrilling.” The Lord smiled down at Ragar, eyes bright and always mysteriously joyful. “Now, will you show me what you’ve gathered about him throughout this little jounrney?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Ragar lowered his head, hands placed close to his sides. He lowered his defenses until there would be no impedance to the Lord into even the farthest recesses of his mind; to see and know things as he had seen and known them.

He was awash, overwhelmed by his Lord’s presence, melding so thoroughly with his own. Momentarily, Ragar could not understand where he ended and where his Lord began; he could have happily forgotten his own name had his Lord willed it. To be and to belong, Ragar was dazed with that feeling as he was penetrated to his core, as his mind was picked apart and read and dissected.

Then, the Lord retreated from him, and Ragar found himself suddenly grounded again in reality, suddenly aware of his individual body standing before the Lord as he was returned to himself.

“So his habits remain unchanged,” the Lord sighed, feigning exasperation. He leaned against his knuckles. “‘Lord,’ that’s a funny title, isn’t it?”

* * *

The door swung open for him before he could even touch it, and there was that noble again, ever watchful. Even with his face partially covered, Muzaka found himself becoming tired of the sight of it.

Ragar stood again silently to the side, eyes lowered.

The Lord beamed jovially at him as he approached the throne.

Muzaka remained unamused. “What are your intentions?”

“My intentions? Have I not already made them clear?” The Lord’s voice was lofty, carrying with it none of the weight of the situation. “I am merely observing something that fascinates me.” His benign smile held no meaning.

His expression creased irritably. “And what’s so fascinating?” Muzaka asked.

“Hm.” The Lord tilted his head. “Many things, many things...” He laughed. “It's fascinating, isn't it? How you're the Lord of your people and yet, if you were to die in my throne room right now...how long do you think it would take for people to notice” He gestured vaguely in the air to convey the magnitude of what he was saying. "A month? A year? A century? A millenia? What do you think, Lord Muzaka?"

"Is that a threat?" Muzaka said roughly.

"Oh no, not at all. I am merely thinking out loud, as they say." The Lord punctuated this with a smile like a curtsy. "Perhaps it would not take that long for someone to notice. After all, you have that girl, Ashleen—"

A wave of power rolled off of him. Muzaka stepped forward, gray fur covering his hands and claws at his side. "You—!"

There was a black blade at his throat. The noble whispered behind him. "How dare you..."

"At ease, Ragar." The Lord waved his hand nonchalantly.

Ragar dismissed his blades into thin air and silently returned to his post, donning his demure facade again.

The Lord rose from his throne, commanding attention with forceful magnetism. Delicately, he floated down from his altar to stand at their level.

Glancing to the side, Muzaka could see Ragar's eyes remaining strictly averted.

The Lord approached him with mystical gracefulness, as though he never truly touched the ground, weightless in his movements and the flow of his black robes. He smiled, beguiling, siren-like, like a spell, eyes luminescing with concentrated noble magic. He leaned forward and Muzaka stepped back.

"What nice claws you have," The Lord said slowly. "How I'd like to know for myself how sharp they are, how forged and powerful they are. Perhaps they might sharpen my sword. Do you know what would happen if we were to battle?"

Muzaka eyed him with suspicion. "Let me guess...'fascinating things?'"

The Lord perked up to look at him with wide eyes. Muzaka could only interpret his surprise as mockery. "That's right!" the Lord sang. "So you've caught on at last." He sighed dramatically. "Alas, such things are not something either of us are willing to observe, I'm sure, for the sake of our people, you see." The Lord circled around him; his very proximity was pressure. "And I am certain you know all about _that._ "

Meekly, Muzaka's claws disappeared.

* * *

He was stopped on the edge of Lukedonia by that infuriating, ever present noble. "What do you want? Aren't we done?"

"This is for you," Ragar said flatly. He held out his arm. In his hand was a familiar maroon cape.

Muzaka stared at it, baffled. The clan leader was just as strange as his Lord. He reached out to take the article into his hand. "Why do you..."

"It will make the girl happy to see you in this." Swiftly, Ragar turned away, tucking his arm again close to his body. He eyed him, nodded once, and then departed wordlessly, before Muzaka could get another word in.

“Ah—thanks...” Muzaka said to the air.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually pay any attention to Muzaka, but I thought it'd be fun to try focusing on characters and character dynamics that are outside of my usual work. There may be more alternative character explorations in the same vein.


End file.
